


Better Tomorrow

by Lumissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Heavy Themes, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Marauders' Era, Secret Identity, Self-Harm, Slash, Time Travel, after war, getting better, ignores the epilogue, planning while writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumissa/pseuds/Lumissa
Summary: After making a wish on his 18th birthday, Harry wakes up in Hogwarts far different from his own. It seemed like his wish was answered with an opportunity to go to his final year with his dead parents and other Marauders but what felt like a dream at first ended up with more disappointment. After being forgotten for umpteenth time Harry decided that the travel in time was just one more joke of his bad karma. He was even stuck with a truth enthusiastic Gryffindor boy he’d never even heard about before as his only companion on lonely nights but it seemed like the boy didn’t want Harry’s friendship; he knew Harry had secrets and he wanted the whole world to know about them.Slash, HP/OMC, Time Travel, MaraudersIGNORES THE EPILOGUE





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my Harry Potter time travel fic that is full of clichés and plot holes! It’s been years since I read Harry Potter books or watched the movies and I haven’t kept up with Pottermore nor new Fantastic Beasts series. I’m actually one of those who prefers just the books and original movies, not any additional stories that Rowling came up afterwards. She can do whatever with her world but I prefer to keep Potter’s world just as I remember it from my childhood. So, in other words, I lag some detailed information and such since it’s been so long since I had any contact with the books. I just happened to find some old fics I used to love and read them again, then remembered that I started my own fic back in 2014, read the first chapters I wrote back then and decided I wanted more. So the idea is old but the writing’s brand new since I rewrote everything.

Chapter 1

Three sizes too large t-shirt glued itself against Harry’s back with sweat. It dripped down his skin and sent shivers up his spine despite the roasting heat. It was July and one of the hottest summers Harry could remember. With a sigh he pushed up his glasses and lifted his wand to do one more spell. He tried to ignore the shake as he soundlessly levitated the last stone to its place.

Harry stepped back wiping the sweat from his forehead. His eyes lingered on the great wall of Hogwarts that now looked like it had before the war had went down. The broken stones had been replaced with new, perfect ones and the red stains that had covered some parts of the remaining wall were gone. It was like the war of Hogwarts had never happened. Like the memories that kept repeating themselves inside Harry’s mind were just a lie or a bad dream. Harry had to avert his eyes from the wall of the castle he’d worked hours to fix. He knew that the world had to move on and that was exactly what headmaster McGonagall had wanted when she’d called couple of trustworthy witches and wizards to rebuild the school the war had completely destroyed. He knew that was the right thing to do. 

But it didn’t mean that it wasn’t any less painful to watch the evidence of that horrid night to just disappear like everyone were supposed to simply forget. 

Before he could cast a bombing spell on the wall he’d just spent hours to build again, Harry turned around to head out of the Sun. His head was starting to feel weird and his mood dangerously becoming even more sullen. If he stayed out any longer he’d probably do something he’d regret later. 

He hated to admit it that more than that he was afraid of having to apologize to the disappointed faces around him for something he felt was a right thing to do. He was selfish. Was now and had been back then. He hadn’t exactly tried hard enough to not see his comrades fall down, their faces concerted into a shocked and fearful expressions forever as the green light hit them. 

What had he exactly done to avoid such situation? Nothing. He’d hidden and let others get tangled up to the mess that was Voldemort’s and his only. There had been no need for Fred to stop smiling, no need for Remus and Tonks to never return to their just-born son. There had been no reason for so many tear streaked faces looking down to their family members who would never get up again to see this better future where the society was trying to pick itself up. There had been absolutely no reason for Harry to try to hide the evidence of the massacre he’d been a part of like he was some pathetic coward trying to pretend he was just an innocent bystander. 

They’d all believed in him. 

 

Sending the last glance towards the wall behind him he finally moved away, trying to push away the pressure in his chest. Some rational part in his head was telling him to shut up – that it wasn’t his fault but Voldemort’s. Harry knew that. He knew. 

It was a different thing if his heart wanted to believe it. 

He felt a sting in the corner of his eyes but nothing came out. The heat was making him lose his composure and will to try to put on a smile if he met anyone on his way towards Hagrid’s hut. Wind blew a breath of scalding air onto his face and Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad about it or not. Somehow it felt like the wind was trying to make him sweat even more as he made his way through shadowless property of Hogwarts, long hay dancing around his legs. Even the construction magic had been oddly draining that day, like the spells and the weather had joined their forces to make Harry’s miserable thoughts push to the front. Once again Harry bit down the urge to do something not proper for a war hero and instead concentrated on the thought of finding something freezing to drink at the hut. 

Despite spending a month at the school after the war it was still weird to walk around without hearing screams from the forest, without seeing panicked faces flash past him as people tried to run for their lives, without seeing bodies scattered around his feet and doing his best to not stumble on them. It was quiet and peaceful. There was no soul around. Harry was appointed to work on that particular wall by himself since it hadn’t been damaged too badly while his friends were scattered all around the property doing whatever they were asked to do. The silence was almost eerie especially when the school had never been so empty even before the war when the students and teachers had occupied every nook and corner of their beloved school. When Harry was sure he’d seen a flash of dark robes from the corner of his eyes, he knew he had to get out of the Sun. 

While running down the hill Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the school would be just like always this fall. The thought made him uneasy for some reason, especially the thought that he wouldn’t be there to see it. He hadn’t finished his final year but he’d been given a chance from Kingsley to get the necessary education to become an Auror. Harry knew it was mostly because he was Harry Potter, the boy-who-killed-the-dark-lord, and despite that advantage he was thankful but…

He didn’t even want to think how much the empty feeling would spread once the fall came back and he wasn’t with other students on the train, eager to go back home. 

He wasn’t eager for the summer to end despite all the horrid images he got stuck to his brain daily because he didn’t want to leave Hogwarts for good. 

He didn’t have a home, he didn’t have family… not even a girlfriend especially since he and Ginny had broken it off shortly after the war. Where would he go?

Harry hissed as his palm stung. His nails had dug open a blister on his palm and blood was now flowing down his wrist. With a curse Harry sped up to get finally to his destination and bandage himself up. He quickly hoped that Hermione wouldn’t be there with her sharp eyes, taking in the state of Harry’s palm, but instantly felt a bang of guilt. 

He made a decision to pick himself up while he opened the door but then got stunned to his tracks when a roar of voices greeted him. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Harry whipped out his wand and for a while simply stood there, staring at the smiling faces all around the room. After two seconds he realized he had his mouth hanging open and his wand still out but this only seemed to amuse everyone in the hut. Harry’s eyes started to take it all in.

The hut was clearly spread out with magic since there was no way all the Weasleys, gigantic Hagrid, half of the students his age and the whole bunch of Hogwarts professors would have fitted in there. Especially when Harry’s eyes landed on a huge three-store cake that had charmed Quidditch players flying around it and a large number 18 written on it with something that glittered both red and gold. Harry blinked, hiding his wand while his other had sprung up to mess the back of his hair. 

“W-What is all this?” he asked, not sure if he was more relieved or shocked of what was going on. Ron emerged somewhere from the crowd, slapping his shoulder with a wide grin.

“It’s your birthday party, mate!” Ron said. “You thought we wouldn’t throw a party for you?”

Harry was still stunned but managed a small smile. “No,” he said slowly, waving slightly at approaching Hermione. “I’d just forgotten it was my birthday.” Harry had no idea when the days had gone by so fast it was already that time of the year. 

“Harry! Congratulations!” Hermione pulled him into a hug and Harry awkwardly rounded his arms around her. Ron looked more amused than anything. “So how does it feel to be finally eighteen?”

Harry hated himself for turning her words into something like, “How does it feel to be alive on your eighteenth birthday?” He knew she didn’t mean that. Instead of spurting out whatever he shrugged.

“Good, I guess.” Hermione’s brows were starting to draw together. “I mean, I haven’t really had time to think about this but this looks great, guys,” he continued hurriedly. 

“Of course it does!” Harry’s stomach made a flip as a red headed girl whose face he knew better than anyone’s stood in front of him. “We spent ages on baking that cake.” Ginny’s smile wasn’t as wide as his two best friends’, even Ron’s smile was starting to falter now that the tension fell between the four of them. Harry was painfully aware of the rest of the eyes on them and quickly tried to hide his embarrassment. 

“I… I believe that,” Harry nodded. “It’s amazing.” Silence started to fall between them.

Thankfully the Weasley mother came rushing towards him to smother him with kisses and hugs and the rest of the room started to breathe. Despite being in a tight spot even Harry could inhale more easily. He watched sadly as the girl he’d once liked so much now left to stand next to Dean Thomas and slipped her hand into his. Harry’s eyes lingered on their hands a little longer than was normal but no one seemed to notice. Ginny looked happy. Happier than she’d been with Harry. There was a glow in her eyes that Harry hadn’t seen since his sixth year and a relaxed smile was back instead of the tight one she seemed to have stuck to after the war.

Harry was glad she was happy. He was happy that it was also Dean. He was good for her. Dean was positive, always noticed when Ginny needed attention and was always there when Harry failed to be. After the war Ginny had had hard time with the loss of Fred but Harry had been a git and let himself dwell on his own problems for so long that Ginny’d become fed up with trying to understand. 

When he’d told her he wanted to break up she hadn’t even cried. She’d just smiled sadly and agreed. 

Then it was over. 

Harry still cared about Ginny but he didn’t feel the urge to push Dean away when he kissed her tenderly. On contrary his mind saw green for other reasons; Harry had no one to return to because the one he used to have was now expecting Dean instead of Harry. 

There were so many things in Harry’s mind he never wanted anyone to know. He didn’t want to lose his only friends too. 

“Harry, what is that?” Hermione’s grave voice pushed him out of his voice. He quickly smoothed his wrinkly forehead and furrowed brows as he glanced where the girl was pointing to. Harry tentatively raised his hand, only now remembering the palm that wasn’t bleeding any longer. 

“Oh, this?” He waved his hand like it was nothing. “Just accidentally opened a blister.”

Ron glanced discreetly at them while pretending to eat muffins and not listening on their conversation. Harry rolled his eyes and cast a quick healing spell on the wound. He went to clean the blood off at the sink. 

Hermione’s sigh didn’t make him look at her but when she started to talk he turned his annoyed eyes at her. 

“Wasn’t that blister from that other time you happened to _accidentally_ scratch your palm when we were sitting at the dinner table a week ago?” He frowned at her pursed lips. 

“Yeah, well, my palm just started to itch and who doesn’t scratch their itch away,” Harry stated matter of factly and turned to Ron. “Right, Ron?”

The red head looked lost for a while, glancing from his girlfriend to his best friend and finally shrugged, muttering something incoherent with his mouth full of cookies. His face reddened and he quickly scurried away with some excuse. Hermione didn’t look pleased but let it be. 

“I’m serious, Harry.” Her voice was steady but Harry could see she wanted to force her opinions down his throat. He went to get a cookie for himself too, trying to keep his temper down. 

“Look, Hermione,” he started, not meeting her eyes anymore. “I’m fine. I don’t even know what you’re trying to imply.”

“I think you do-“

“No, I don’t.” He had to take a deep breath before continuing, “Today I just accidentally opened an old would. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Harry…”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.” Harry raised his hand to her, having a sick feeling of victory when she reeled back looking embarrassed. “It’s just a wound. I’ve endured much worse.” Like dying once. Or every time Voldemort was connected to his scar. 

“I know that but this is different. You haven’t been yourself lately…”

“None of us has been.”

“I know that.” It seemed like it was getting harder even for her to keep her voice calm. “But saw your face when…” She took a deep breath. “When you opened that last wound.”

Harry had no idea what she was talking about.

“And that one wound on your arm before that.”

“What wound…” Harry tried to remember what she meant. “You mean the one I got when I picked up that stone with bare hands? I didn’t even do that myself!”

“I know that, Harry! But the way you looked so calm after it.” She chocked to her words, looking down. Her voice wavered like she was afraid to admit what she thought, “You looked at your… blood like it was helping you breath more easily.”

Harry’s heart beat through his chest as he tried to avoid the teary brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something only to end up closing it when he had nothing to say. 

Hermione wasn’t finished and even Ron was coming back to them after seeing the conversation wasn’t going that well without him but right when they both opened their mouths talk a happy voice yelled,

“Harry, my boy! It’s time to blow the candles!”

Harry let out a shaky breath and turned to Mr. Weasley. He was smiling widely but a twist on his lips and dark circles under his eyes told another story. Harry smiled in spite of this, happy for distraction. 

His eyes followed keenly every movement of McGonagall’s wand as she lit up the candles and made the little Quidditch players fly around in panic. That was so he didn’t have to face Hermione and what kind of face she was making after their talk. What he could tell from Ron’s expression, though, was that Harry would probably hate himself for it. 

“Now remember to wish, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said and actually looked excited. Harry smiled at him kindly and was about to blow the candles when Ron asked,

“What do you mean wish?”

Mr. Weasley looked at his son in confusion and Hermione came to his rescue. Her voice was raspy which made Harry look down at the huge cake his friends had made for him. He bit his lip but didn’t say anything.

“It’s a muggle tradition.” She cleared her throat. “When someone has a birthday and they blow the candles, they can wish for anything.”

“Why?”

“Well, then the wish will come true.”

“Do you mean there’s some kind of magic to it?” Seamus asked. 

This time it was Dean who looked at his friend like he was an idiot. “No, it doesn’t actually work. It’s just a muggle superstition.”

“What’s a superstition?” Neville frowned.

“Who cares, just do it already, Harry, so we can eat,” Seamus ushered. 

Harry snickered with others, shaking his head but in the end did what he was asked to. He stared at the dancing little flames for a while thinking about the wish. There was no harm to it so why not make everyone happy for once and wish for something. God, was there so much he wished for. So much he wanted for his living friends, for his late beloved ones, for himself… 

He let his gaze meet everyone in the room and everyone looked at him eagerly back. No one looked at him the way they were supposed to, they just looked at him gently – sadly even. Some were smiling and some encouraging him to do it. But Harry could see the faces in the crowd that were missing. That were supposed to be there. He almost expected to see Colin’s camera flash the moment he finally bent down and blew the candles. 

The flames flickered and finally the only ray of light was the sun pouring in from a small window. Everyone started to clap, some even cheered but Harry couldn’t muster much of a smile at them. He simply stared at the smoking candles and closed his eyes, repeating the wish one more time like a mantra, hoping that there actually was some kind of magic in a muggle tradition.

_Just give me a good reason to wake up tomorrow. Give me a reason to wake up tomorrow. Give me a reason to want to wake up tomorrow._

When he opened his eyes he was smiling once again and decided to forget his wish. He’d deal with the head ache tomorrow.

*~*~*~*

A/N: Leave a comment if you feel like it! I'd love to know what you think about this one :)  
Written on: 22.12.2017


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! Thank you for reading my fic~

Next morning Harry woke up with clammy skin and a faint thud in his temples. A low rumble escaped his throat as he pressed his face deeper into the pillow. Something tried to poke his eye and after a full minute of annoyance he remembered he’d went to bed with his glasses on. Muttering something uncoherent under his breath he sat up to only to notice he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes too. Already sweaty t-shirt was clinging tighter to his back than yesterday and an offensive scent of sweat from yesterday’s labour and last night’s nightmares made Harry wrinkle his nose. 

He was such a mess.

The room was completely void of any life excluding a soft snoring that emerged from the next bed. It was Ron’s bed. A quick glance at the muggle watch on the bedside table that Harry didn’t remember placing there told him it was only six o’clock. Only those who were too crazy to wake up early or those with trouble to sleep would be up at such an ungodly hour. With a final sigh Harry stood up, deciding to give up the sleep. 

He made no sound as he went through the ruby red bed curtain and a sight of a messy Gryffindor dorm room opened up in front of him. A soft morning glow lightened up the cramped place, making it look cosier and much more isolated than it’d be in just a few hours. The work would start at nine so his friends would be at breakfast at eight. There wouldn’t be any breakfast served yet but it wasn’t like Harry was hungry. The image of the empty staring eyes were still burned to the back of his eyes and the blood on his hands didn’t seem to get off no matter how many times Harry brushed his palms on his jeans. He vaguely wondered if he should shower before going out. 

He didn’t feel like it.

But he knew Hermione would be at his throat if he smelled worse than Hagrid’s half-brother. 

There was no choice then. While Harry quickly undressed himself, not sparing a glance at the image on the bathroom mirror, he tried to push down the burning hot that ran under his skin at the thought of Hermione implying Harry was harming himself. What the hell did she know? Harry didn’t even mind the almost inexistent sting on his palm as the water and soap passed it. He knew she was worried but there was no reason. She should have been worried of the Weasleys. They’d experienced much greater grief and all because of Voldemort’s personal grudge on Harry. If he’d just given himself in before the war had broken out. If he’d let the snake man kill him and that way a part of himself then the school would still be in one piece and not so many would have died on that night…

Closing his mind Harry quickly exited the shower, put on the clothes he’d found next to his bed – a pair of nice jeans and a red t-shirt he’d probably bought when he’d been shopping with Hermione and Ginny for new clothes – and left for the common room before anyone else woke up. He knew he was being unreasonable and childish, throwing tantrums like a Malfoy, but something inside of him wanted a moment of peace or he’d end up saying something he’d regret. He was lucky that it was still summer and the common room was empty. Yesterday’s work had been rough for everyone and Harry’s birthday party had lasted till the midnight so it was no wonder that even Hermione was sleeping. It seemed that it was just Harry who was cursed with early mornings. 

He wondered for a while if it was for the best to stay in the common room but it’d mean that anyone who happened to wake up early would find him right away – and no doubt initiate a conversation. Harry hesitated for a second, a realization that he really was being an ass hitting him hard. He let his eyes wander towards the stairs that led to his friends and his mind to last night full of laughter and warm smiles. Despite everything they’d all still been there for Harry. Even when Harry himself hadn’t had time to remember that his birthday had drawn so close. It’d never been a big deal during his childhood at the Dursleys and even when the Weasleys and Hermione had remembered it, Harry had celebrated the day only a handful of times. 

Eighteen years. School was actually really over for him, wasn’t it?

Clenching his fist Harry exited the room fast. 

The hallways were just as empty which spoke of the fact that even the professors, ghosts, other houses and the portraits were fast asleep. Harry glanced behind himself and sure the lady of the Gryffindor portrait was snoring so loudly other portraits were frowning in their sleep. The sight made his lips twist. 

Fat Lady snorted and then suddenly started to smack her lips together like she was waking up. Harry thought about bolting but decided against it when Lady opened her eyes staring straight at Harry. 

“Oh, good morning, dear,” she greeted, yawning in a way that sounded like she was singing. Harry fought back the urge to cover his ears and thus offending her. It’d be a pain if she woke everyone up with her screech. 

“Morning, madam,” Harry said politely, glancing behind himself. The staircase nudged right then into movement. Harry cursed; who knew how long the stairs decided to stay away this time. They were quite peculiar sometimes. 

It was quiet for too long Harry realized as he turned back to the portrait. Fat Lady was regarding Harry with a long stare, frowning slightly. Harry moved awkwardly, wondering what the portrait saw that made her suddenly uncharacterically quiet. Harry tempted a slight smile. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. The lady didn’t say a word for another second until she finally shook herself and laughed. It sounded quite forced. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still half asleep,” she said airily. “That cursed sir Cadogan kept me up till late last night with his ridiculous antics. For a while I thought there’s something different with you Mr. Potter.”

Harry stiffened. What did she see? Unconsciously he put his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?” He made sure the staircase was at least coming back already. With a dismay Harry noticed it wasn’t. It was still moving around without stopping anywhere. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Yes, something quite different,” she mused, not letting her gaze falter for a second. Then she laughed heartily and waved it off. “But what am I saying. It’s not unusual for you to come and go looking different every time.”

“Oh, um.” Harry shifted awkwardly, backing away now that the stairs were coming back. “If you say so.” 

“Yes, I still remember when you came in that one night after the curfew your hair bright pink. After whatever mischief you’d been up to that night with your friends. Obviously I didn’t let you pass that night.”

“Pink?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “I think you’re mistaken.” He could not remember any time his hair was pink because he’d been up to some _mischief_. 

“No, no, dear!” The lady didn’t seem to notice that Harry was slowly backing away. “I remember clearly everyone who come and go through this door. It’s not nice of you to suspect my competence, Mr. Potter!” 

“Yes, you’re right, madam,” Harry agreed. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffed at him. 

“Whatever, child. Go on then. I have a morning practice to do.”

That finally woke up the rest of the portraits around them and all of them were loudly groaning. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, woman!” A portrait of an old, grumpy man whose name Harry still didn’t know, yelled. “I swear if you dare to sing a note I will throw you down the bloody astronomy tower!”

“Wha—“ Fat Lady looked scandalised. “How dare you, you old fool! You don’t understand art!”

“I’ll show you art, you—“

Harry decided it was right time to slip away from the conversation. He fled down the stairs that were finally there and stopped only after he was at least three floors below the portrait. He leaned against the wall for a while, rubbing his temples. 

A great beginning for a great day, he thought dryly, deciding it was for the best to eat before others did. He didn’t feel like socializing unless it was necessary during the repairs. He quickly sped down the stairs towards the kitchen in hope of not being stopped by other portraits. Lady had after all mentioned sir Cadogan was on the move. 

It seemed, though, that someone else was on the move too. When Harry rounded the corner that led to the portrait of fruits, someone ran straight into him. The impact made him lose his balance but a hand grabbed him by the elbow, steadying him. He straightened his glasses quickly, an apology on the top of his tongue. 

He didn’t get the word out.

A boy in school robes was muttering to himself, picking up the scattered papers next to his feet. He didn’t seem to be interested in Harry anymore. 

Harry blinked couple of times and tried to look at the boy again.

He was still wearing his school uniform. His tie was in Gryffindor colours. He was at least sixteen if not already seventeen.

Harry had never seen him before.

“Who are you?” The question slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. The boy looked up briefly, confused, but then he rolled his blue eyes. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry when he picked up the last parchment and finally straightened himself, standing taller than Harry. Many people were taller than Harry but this boy in particular was huge.   
Harry still didn’t recognize him. No matter how many times he tried to take in his strong jaw, wide eyes and neatly comped golden hair he had no idea who the supposedly Gryffindor in a school uniform during summer was. The school was supposed to be filled with people Harry had seen every day during the past month and all of them were trusted people. 

None of them had worn Hogwarts’ robes at all.

“Nice to see you too, Potter,” he said, walking past harry not sparing another glance at him. “You better hurry back to your sidekicks or they’ll get annoying soon. Oh, yeah, nice transfiguration, by the way.” The boy was pointing at his own face.

“What?” Harry shook his head, wondering how the boy knew him. Then he felt like hitting himself because who in the wizarding world didn’t know his face. “Hey, wait! Who are you?”

But the boy was already at the stairs, pretending that he didn’t hear him. Harry yelled one last time after him but the boy was stubborn or just didn’t care. Harry tried to remember if McGonagall had mentioned anything about a new member to their repair team but couldn’t bring up any memory like that. It was true, though, that he’d been quite distracted for a while and probably ignored the words if the headmistress had mentioned something about a new boy. The colours of the Gryffindor house bothered him, though, since there definitely wasn’t anyone like that in his house. He tried to remind himself that it was impossible to know all the students but the boy looked a lot like he was at least Harry’s age.   
Harry raised his hand to his cheek and then to his hair. It felt the same. What had he meant with transfiguration?

With a sobering shake of the head Harry finally walked towards the portrait. He stopped in front of it suddenly being swept away by nausea. A hand rose to his mouth as he closed his eyes, willing the feeling to go away. 

Something prodded his mind, whispering words of warning to him. That something didn’t feel right but what was it? He felt like there were small things that he should have noticed but couldn’t quite name what they were. Just tiny details that were amiss. With a frown, Harry turned on his heels and ran to the nearest toilet.   
The white tiles assaulted his still tired eyes but he ignored the feeling. Instead he leaned against the sink and peered into the mirror only to see green eyes looking back to him. The boy in the reflection looked definitely the same he remembered himself, maybe only slightly more tired and startled what Harry could read from the expression. 

He definitely did feel startled. 

It could have been that Harry was still dreaming. Sometimes his dreams took quite bizarre forms, after all. Harry lifted his bangs and saw that his scar looked normal – pale and calm, just like it was supposed to be after Voldemort’s death. A weight dropped from his chest. 

It was probably for the best to head back to the tower. 

He walked through the toilet in a mist, not noticing couple of curious ghosts passing him. His mind was on the boy and the words of the portrait. Something was off but his brain couldn’t pin out the answer. 

He almost ran up the stairs, feeling the breath leave his lungs. When he was half way up, a distant buzzing of people reached his ears. He stopped for a while, to look down. If he remembered right, Hufflepuff’s dormitory was supposed to be close by. There were couple of Hufflepuffs amongst the repairing team but the voices told about many more. 

Harry reached the tower in record time and almost yelled the password at the lady. The portrait blinked once, then twice, until she said, “Stupid boy. Did you go and forget the password?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. 

“No,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure it’s _upsy daisy_. The password changed just two days ago.” 

Fat Lady started to ignore him, probably tired with his antics. 

“I’m serious! _Upsy daisy_!” Harry almost yelled. The lady turned to him with an annoyed expression and was about to say something but then the portrait opened with a swing and someone stepped out. 

First Harry saw only a mess of brown hair and was already smiling in relief when his heart stopped. The person he’d thought was Hermione, wasn’t. The girl spared a quick glance at him but then ignored Harry like he wasn’t even there. Somewhere behind the buzz inside his head Harry noted that she was wearing school robes too. When another person walked out, a blond boy who looked no older than eleven, Harry whispered out loud,

“What the bloody hell?”

No one else came out so Harry leaped through the portrait hole before Fat Lady could shut it in front of him. The lady made an angry shriek that would probably wake up the rest of the castle but at the moment it wasn’t the biggest worry on his mind. There were more demanding things like a half full common room, for example. 

Half full with people in robes and buzzling around with their morning preparations. Some were sitting next to the fire, quickly scribbling away to the parchments probably doing last minute homework. Some were chatting leisurely next to the stairs, waiting for the rest of their friends. Some were even throwing around explosive superballs, Harry noted. They didn't seem to have a worry in the world unlike all Harry’s friends did. 

Some people were starting to notice him just standing in front of the open portrait. Distantly he noticed that Fat Lady was still screaming about an intruder which was probably why the light chatter was dying out. Some were even giving him looks from head to toe and only then did Harry realized he was standing out because of the muggle clothes.   
If they actually even were his. Now that he thought about it, they were slightly too large for him but since he was used to using Dudley’s old ones, the ones he was wearing felt almost like they were too tight like the new ones he’d been forced to buy. 

“Isn’t that Potter?” someone whispered. Harry looked slowly at her but she didn’t notice his stare. 

Her friend did, though, and was slightly blushing, shaking her head. “Shh, Maria.” Harry didn’t mind. He was used to stares. At least they all seemed to know who he was. The thing was, though, he knew no Maria.

“I don’t know,” muttered someone, probably still thinking he didn’t hear them through the scream. “Isn’t he a little too thin?”

“And his eyes are green.”

“Well, he had bloody neon yellow eyes last year after taking that colour change potion he and Black had brewed.”

Harry’s heart stopped. Black? Green eyes?

It was almost like someone had cast a cold Aquamenti spell inside his guts as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

A girl with bright green eyes and a fiery red hair came down to him, worry written all over her face. Harry’s heart made a leap. He knew this face. “Are you alright, James? You look… quite distracted.” Her voice was soft like she was afraid Harry would bolt right after her words.

To be honest, he felt like bolting would have been the best option right then. He opened his mouth just let out a shaky breath. The whole world seemed to be shaking in front of him. Or it was Harry who was shaking, unable to tear his eyes off of the girl he’d only seen in memories or in photos. 

Lily Evans looked back at him and Harry couldn’t do anything when her eyes widened as she finally saw something wasn’t right. 

She’d called him James. 

“You’re not James,” she almost whispered. Harry still couldn’t get a sound out of his mouth. When the girl backed away, panic rose inside him when he couldn’t stop her from leaving. 

She was his mother. Lily Potter was right there in front of him, growing more and more scared of Harry’s silence. He vaguely wondered how he looked to her. Did he look like a maniac, like someone who was about to lose his mind? Because that was how he felt, like the world was starting to fall apart all around him and then leaving Harry to grumble to the floor. 

It all had to be dream. 

When his hand finally moved, it was to pinch himself. He hissed sharply and closed his eyes. The sounds didn’t quiet down although that didn’t mean anything but when he opened his eyes again, Lily Potter was long gone, backing away towards the mirror that had been placed at the end of the room.

Only that it wasn’t a mirror. People were looking back and forth between Harry and the boy who looked impeccably like him, expecting something to happen. Harry waited too. But when someone finally moved it was James Potter who had his wand drawn out, pointing it between Harry’s eyes. His own brown ones flashed behind his glasses. 

“Who are you?” 

Harry didn’t know how to answer that.

For a fleeting moment he wondered the same himself.

28.12.2017


End file.
